If not for the echo of pelting rain on the metal roof, I wouldn’t have heard her knocking. When I open the door, I first see the bright red umbrella. She slowly raises it to reveal lips just as red.
“Do you have a vacancy?” She speaks softly, seductively.
“Oh, we have 12 vacancies—12 cabins, 12 vacancies,” I say, but given that she’s a woman alone and I do run this motel with my mother, she may not find that humorous.
“Norman, who’s at the door?” my mother calls from the office.
“Just a customer.” I guide her inside.
Does this scene sound familiar?